The Ballad of Drunk Daegan
by Skandranon
Summary: Based on one the best Dungeons and Dragons games I ever played. Poem.


The Ballad of Drunk Daegan

The story of an inebriated halfling and a DD game gone wrong

by Skandranon

* * *

It was a fair May day in spring, within the Battledale

The weather was quite warm with a northeastern breezy gale

Where, at an inn one late evening, we shall begin the tale

Of a halfling rogue named Daegan, quite a handsome little male

Who had somehow gotten hold of ten large bottles of strong ale.

Our heroes had come to this inn after a week long quest

And all were looking forward to some decent food and rest

Unluckily, the peace was soon disturbed with a contest

To see who, between man and hin, could hold his liquor best

And as the bards like to say, you can predict the rest.

Said Tark the man, "I shall prevail, for as everyone knows,

"A halfling is too small a creature to drink all of those."

Said Daegan, hin, "I surely doubt the things this human crows,

"He boasts so large, but drunk, I doubt if he could find his toes."

Because that's how the bragging in a drinking contest goes.

Their elf companion Maledie was made to judge the game

She grudgingly accepted, and chose to set her aim

On making sure that the amount they drank was both the same

And when one fell over, she was to call the winner's name

Though in her wisdom, she thought the whole concept rather lame.

The scene was set, 10 bottles stacked, the players' facing off

Said Tark the man, "My tiny friend, don't drink so fast you cough."

Said Daegan with a teasing smile, "My friend, don't make me scoff."

Said Maledie as she looked on, "This could get very rough."

But Daegan just laughed in reply, "He doesn't look that tough."

Both drained a tankard swiftly and then slammed it on the bench

And both picked up another and their aching throats did quench

The suds spilled on the table in a sticky sudsy drench

But Tark noticed that as Daegan swallowed, he made a flinch

Thought Tark the human to himself, "This game will be a cinch."

By the fourth bottle each, the pace was slowing to a crawl

Daegan was clutching a bench limb in hopes he wouldn't fall

But by his fourth and two thirds, he collapsed against the wall

"That's it, Tark wins," The elf muttered, and stalked off towards the hall.

"Hey hold up, I'll come with you," was the human ranger's call.

And so our hero Daegan was left in the room alone

Quite inebriated, you could say soaked to the bone

His vision spinning circles as he on the floor lay prone

The slightest movement causing a headache that made him moan

"I should've stolen weaker drink," was his woeful groan.

The story would end there, except that on this warm spring night

A band of orcs had snuck into the tavern for a bite

Armed with clubs and axes, looking for a bloody fight

But they found none, for all the locals had escaped in fright

And upstairs, Daegan whined and winced, not knowing of his plight.

The orc band climbed the staircase as it creaked under their weight

They peered into each bedroom, for a snack to hunger sate

But they found no one hiding, and they snarled their lips in hate

For they all were very hungry, and the night was getting late

As they came to Daegan's door, to seal the poor drunk halfling's fate.

Meanwhile, our hero Daegan had discovered how to stand

Without the floor under his feet transforming to quicksand

And while his head was occupied by a percussion band

He made his way towards the bed, and gripped the frame in hand

And muttered weakly to himself, "Well isn't this just grand."

And suddenly the door behind him fractured down the middle

For it had been a dry winter, and the wood was very brittle

And couldn't stand up to an orc with a desire to whittle

They soon broke through and paused as they spotted Daegan the little

Who in his panic had armed himself with an iron cooking griddle.

And so our hero faced off against orcs, a group of nine

The orc leader grinned evilly and growled, "This one is mine."

And lifting up his spiky club, he hissed, "It's time to dine."

"Could you keep your voices down?" was our hero Daegan's whine.

"I fear I've overdone the ale, and I don't feel so fine."

The orc leader laughed at that, and cracked a wicked grin

And smashed his spiky club down where the halfling should've been

But as he raised it up again, he found a lack of hin

Who currently was swinging the griddle against his shin

The howling that commenced was an unearthly kind of din.

And so our hero fought them all, with griddle wildly flung

His balance wobbled wildly as his lethal weapon sung

His vision blurry spots as to the iron pan he clung

Breaking a nose here, and there cracking against a lung

The orcs yelping and barking as the tiny halfling stung.

Our other friends, meanwhile, had wandered a backalley route

And now they rushed up to the room to see what made the shout

But as the reached the door they paused, and had to their eyes doubt

For in the messy upturnedroom, nine dead orcs lay about

And in the middle of it, our drunk Daegan had passed out.

* * *

Author's Notes : True story… sort of. Based on a DD game in which I, Daegan the hin (halfling), challenged my human buddy to a drinking contest… and lost… spectacularly. The DM, being a bastard, decided to have the poor little drunk halfling run into a band of orcs. And I proceeded to have the best dice rolls in my life. 


End file.
